


you've never been with anyone who doesn't take your shit

by th_esaurus



Category: The Hobbit (2012)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 12:59:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/622393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/th_esaurus/pseuds/th_esaurus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thorin/Bilbo. Testing the waters. Non-con and dub-con and not talking about feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've never been with anyone who doesn't take your shit

Thorin Oakenshield lived half his life as a prince, and the rest as creature of fortune, whether to earn his keep or his food or his pleasure, and both had left him spare and selfish; the first time he took from the hobbit, he did so with a damp palm across Bilbo’s open mouth and the briefest pause before the thick, blunt thrust of his cock in which he might have heard protest. Bilbo gave none. Thorin pressed in with a grunt that embarrassed them both with the realisation of how long he had spent unsheathed, and spilled all within minutes.

 

He stayed pressed against Bilbo and kept his noises muffled while the hobbit palmed at his own hot need; he did not stoop to assist.

 

Their next day was a long ride, and though it was neither autumn nor spring, Thorin forewent his cloak, laid it over the hobbit’s saddle, and let it ease his journey. Nothing was said of it. Nothing was said of any of it.

 

*

 

Thorin’s ancestry was one of warlords and stonemasons, not negotiators, and Bilbo’s politics leant towards petty arguments over cabbages. Still; the hobbit had some verve in him.

 

He was led away from the dusk-tired company and turned against a tree-trunk, one crippled by lightning and lent at an old man’s angle. Thorin unhooked the hobbit’s braces from the back of his waist – found them too fiddly for his fingers and just pulled – and tugged down his trousers, and rutted up against him twice even fully-clothed.

 

Bilbo elbowed him back with a cluck of his tongue. It was a gentle sort of push, and Thorin was entirely unused to it. It was neither fight nor tussle; a punch of annoyance. He thought to raise his hand to the hobbit. He did not.

 

Instead, he allowed that Bilbo take his wrist and suckle on his two thickest fingers, and spit a little on the tips of them and the palm of his hand. “I’d rather not suffer through another two days on that pony feeling so unkind in my nethers,” he said, blushing at his crudeness; and then arched his back and spread his short legs.

 

*

 

Thorin complained about the slowness of Bilbo’s cooking in the camp, and the awkwardness of his gait on the trail, and the slightness of his clothes in the cold, and the bareness of his feet on the rocks.

 

He did not complain when Bilbo shrugged off his attempts to turn him belly-down. The hobbit’s littler limbs came up around Thorin’s shoulders and waist as he fucked into him on the gravel and soil. He did not complain about that, either.

 

*

 

“Is it not customary for dwarves to kiss, once in a while?”

 

“—Yes, that is the custom.”

 

“Well then.”

 

*

 

Hard lives make hard men, and there are some who say that dwarves are hewn from the mountainside in the first instance. Thorin, on the rare occasion he caught his reflection, thought his expression always grim-set and his skin hard-looking.

 

The hobbit would not kiss stone, but he would kiss Thorin easily enough.

 

*

 

The day had been long enough for Thorin to be worn through to his bones. He left the hobbit be; took his bedroll aside from the company so that he might be woken only by northward intruders, and not his brethren’s snores.

 

It was Bilbo, this time, who went to him.

 

“Sleep, halfling,” Thorin grunted. It was two more words than he usually spoke at their trysts.

 

“You’ve clearly no regard for my sleeping habits,” Bilbo scoffed, and he shucked down Thorin’s woolen britches with nimble enough hands that he might almost pass as a burglar to those who knew him less.

 

His own trousers, he folded by the wayside. Thorin’s earned no such respect, and the prince grunted at this. “Hush yourself,” Bilbo chided. He slicked himself with both their spittle and sat his knees either side of Thorin’s wide thighs; it seemed a stretch. He changed position. He shifted twice more, cursed the moon and stars, and slid himself wholly on Thorin’s flushed prick.

 

“You’re terribly spoilt,” Bilbo said, between the rock of his hips and the whine of his breath.

 

Thorin was in no state to spite him back.

 

*

 

It was the first time Thorin did not cover the hobbit’s mouth as he came.

 

*

 

And when, later in the night, Thorin had slept his fill enough and dawn was ambling close to the cresting hills, he put his hand on the hobbit’s waist, admired at how much of the skin it covered, and perhaps not as pointedly as he might have intended, asked: “May I?”

 

“You may,” Bilbo answered.

 

It might have been the answer from the very start.


End file.
